Short story. There was a truck broken down in the right lane in bumper-to-bumper traffic this afternoon. Everyone was merging over. Only this one popped-collar gentleman in an SUV was riding the ass of the Corolla in front of him, not letting anyone in. Having none of it, I quickly maneuvered in. He laid on his horn, red-faced, and I smiled and flipped him the proverbial bird.
That’s when the guy started going fucking nuts. He leaned out the window, screaming, “You in trouble! I got your plates! You in trouble now!” Thankfully, he didn’t get out of his car. But it made me think. Does it actually matter that he knows my plates? Can he find me using my license plate? I’d rather not have him, you know, set fire to my house or anything of that nature.